back when canibus was good
Rock them the top of the head, millions of people fall victim to bloodshed //
I leave more dead, than a nuclear warhead //
We’ll all be killed, if I turn it up full tilt //
God knows I got this rap shit, sowed like a quilt //
You probably wondering if I’m versatile, no question //
My styles adapt like luxury car suspension //
Kick the type of shit, that will blow a microphone to bits //
If it’s close enough to kiss, I’ll walk away with chap lips //
I slap in clips, and get down, to the sounds of rounds //
Hitting niggas, and niggas hitting the ground //
Copperfield niggas disappear like magic //
As soon as I pull the semi-automatic out the jacket //
I got you illing, like King-Kong was climbing your building //
Movie directors recording me screaming, “Keep filming!” //
They love to see me rock mics, ‘cause I rock it right //
Curious people pause, like cars at stoplights //
‘Cause it’s banging in a way you wouldn’t believe //
Just to rate my tape, you gotta combine five Source Magazines //
That’s twenty-five mics total //
I got average niggas with four mics saying that I’m immortal //
Fatal as carbon-monoxide, I gunshot you at your backside //
From a bullet traveling Mach Nine //